A Thousand Empty Cabins

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It wasn't an inviting sight. The kind you'd see on a wintry Christmas eve, with lights draped around the window and snow cresting the bow of the roof firmly threatened by a gust of wind that it might fall upon the deck. Nor was it the kind you hope to see after a long journey. Your feet weary, back hurting and ready for a soft bed to embrace your cracked bones. It was the kind that harbored a unique type of malice."

"This cabin, one of a thousand, with harried walls tested and abused by immeasurable years and seasons, perched on a lonely hill surrounded by dark woods and ever dark skies. All around malformed rocks pointed about as if trying to get the whole world's attention. As if to say something is wrong. These mineral teeth with their sole mission carrying all the gusto of a whimper.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Imagine this. You're walking in the woods, alone. Through the trees you see a rise in terrain and glimpse discolored objects lying against the grass. The boughs clearing as you come closer to the primordial sight. You realize the objects are rocks circling the base of the hill all the way to the top. A spiral work of intentional make that works awkwardly towards the front of a breached cabin, the top stabbing at the sky, wind jostling the leaves around the open space and hushing you away. You feel a tug in your conscience to run. The same urge split by a dichotomous rapture within that compels you to push away from the edge of the trees and rise to the top to see what awaits. And when you do, a legion of cabins stretching across the horizon will greet you, dotted amongst the tips of the trees like little islands."

"Know this. The cabin you choose will greet you in the worst way imaginable. No diplomatic treatise. No sugar-coated doors and gumdrop stepping stones laced with sprinkles of icing. It will seem like the windows are shaking from excitement. Then a sudden terror as you finally glance towards the window with the candle burning on the sill and see a grinning face. 'Are they shaking too?', you will wonder to yourself as the figure hurriedly backs away from the pane to run towards the front door. And, inevitably, to come greet you."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I preface my story with these things because I wish to warn you of the inherent dangers present within such a rare scenario. Perhaps no one will ever experience this. I come away from it scarred with a haunting mental trauma that follows my every step. This, and the lingering thing that has been hounding me ever since."

"The sight that I entered upon enacted such an indelible mark upon my soul as to leave scarring. I can still smell the honeysuckle. The pungency of a slight decay, though whether from the cabin itself or some rotting carcass far off, it is hard telling. The silence of the clearing almost a sound all its own. The gentle underlying sense of wonder I felt tinged with an ever-present warning to flee and never come back. Of course, I decided to press on. My procession lined with grass eerily cut to an even sheer and a canopy of pollen darting around my head like a sea of cotton balls. The steepness of the hill broken by my footprints. ‘This is really happening,’ I thought to myself at the time, ‘I am traversing a nightmare of an unknown presence and name.’”

"I remember seeing the face staring at me from the window. At first, I noticed the eyes gleaming near the candle. There was a sense of hatred there. And excitement, as was noticeable from the way this figure seemed to shake with anticipation like a greeted dog. Then the rush to the door. I felt my body jolt from the need to flee. It was at this point my vision, darkened and hazed by the overtaking of fear and terror, noticed the legs of this thing bowed in an alien way and sprinting towards me from the porch. I came undone."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where did I end up after this, you might ask? I woke up in my own bed. The smell of lavender entering my room and greeting me like a sudden kiss on the cheek. A cold allied breeze softly nudging me awake from the abominable scenario I had been subjected to. Then, the remembrance of the cabin, and the toothy hill, and the figure in the window."

"I felt tired and frightened. Food seemed a good mission, and one that might recuperate my senses and set the mood straight in order to find the rest I needed, seeing as it was in the dead of night. A lantern I set on the mantelpiece served as my navigator. I remember the feeling of the cold hard wood floor as I slipped out of bed to find my slippers. Travelling across the room, the childlike fear that one soon forgets in their adult life tugged at me as a slight sting at first, one that I believed I could push away with sheer force of will. When the lantern was lit this option seemed more feasible. And yet, the opening of my bedroom door to the darkened hallway assailed the courage I had found and successfully liquidated all prospects of venturing into the house. There was a rooted element to the emptiness of the hall. Living alone, every sound became a companion to my situation, and especially that night. The vibrations in the pipes giving the quality of someone running up the stairs. And perhaps, I thought, someone IS running up the stairs to come greet me. Maybe It is the one I saw in my nightmare.”

"I shut and locked the door, too afraid and exhausted to consider the childlike nature of my actions and instead seeking the shielding of my blanket against the terror manifesting in my heart. I then placed the lantern on the sill, and this is where things quickly lost traction in reality, and my fear overtook the faculties I would just as soon consider reliable. I noticed at this moment, peripherally, my own reflection staring from the window at me. The warning to the connection between my thoughts and the hairs standing up all over my body when I realized the difference in nature to the one in the window and myself. This was my face acting of another accord. Bear in mind the severity of this, as I say I slept on the second story, and this apparition glaring at me would either have had to been standing on a ladder or floating in the air."

"I retracted underneath the blankets with the intention of remaining steadfast and none the wiser to this guest. My body certainly betrayed me. It shook like a solitary leaf on a barren tree. My mouth was agape from absolute terror. I could not wrest myself long from the reality in what was happening, and the anger overtook my weakness as I decided to look this entity dead on. I realized my mistake immediately as the angelic quality of the stalking presence slivered into focus. The eyes were deathly sunken, gleefully awaiting my acknowledgement, and I barely glimpsed the odd fact of their golden cherubic hair before they suddenly pressed their hands against the window and screamed at me. It was an obtuse sound. Muffled by the window and carrying the strangled octave of a mewling cat. It then smiled wide and began to pound on the glass."

"In my hurried defense, I threw the blankets away from the bed and ran to the bedroom door just as the sound of shattered glass pierced my senses. I quickly shut the door behind me and braced a cabinet against it from the hall in the hope that this intruder would not find the wherewithal to find another room to gain purchase to my nigh defenseless situation.”

“At this moment, it began to hum in a strange voice. The strange quality of a Gregorian chant, without word or meaning, instead seeming to writhe with a childlike quality in a purring pitch. Annotations and syllables almost reaching a head and instead turning into unearthly drops in tone. The sound of demons. But also, by some mark uncannily married to my own.”

“I did not measure the time that I stayed there in the hallway. The doppelgänger, as I will now call it, in a constant state of singalong. Perhaps it wished me to match the game it created. This ventured into the late hours of the night until morning, when I jolted to a startled alertness at my posture, having fallen asleep in a heap near the door. I checked my surroundings and found nothing amiss. I listened for any sounds to come from the bedroom. In turn, with a silence I could not fully trust, I found courage to push the furniture away from the door and storm the room with my lantern. In it was the broken glass on the floor and no sign otherwise. My mind reeled at the absurdity surrounding this. I found nothing of clarification other than the smell of honeysuckle and rot.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My knowledge of the event, clouded in the unreality of a dream world in an all-encompassing shroud of confusion and loss of faculties, has all come up to the tail end of a nauseating conclusion. What I have seen is a terrifying copy of myself. My doppelgänger. Only given life beyond that which mimics my movements, thoughts and practices. As a child I would go on holiday with my family to an isolated camping ground. Usually teeming with life and the joyful sounds of children, when we visited in the crisp bony chill of October it carried a weightiness one can only find in times of complete loneliness. That is where I found the cabin apart from our site. This is where I would venture off on the expeditions that you can only find alone. When your imagination runs rampant and all the fey creatures of folklore and monsters underneath your bed become real and as frightening as they are a captivating possibility. The cabin, apart from comfort, removed from warmth and the light on your heart, waited for me in the same way I described it being in my nightmare. And now it all comes back to me and I shudder to consider the implications of such a ruinous occasion.”

“I have not seen my doppelgänger a day since, except in my memories. Often, when I find the bravery that is fostered in forgetfulness, I will brave the halls of my abode. When sunbeams grace the mustiness of the forgotten corners of my house through the cracks of the boards I’ve placed over the windows. But only then. And when night takes her turn upon the Earth, I lock every door, with a torch placed to fight against every shadow that may lurk and betray my courage.

“The haunting presence has ruined the familiarity of my own reflection. The pane of a window now a threat filled catalyst. The surface of a lake or pond a welcome mat for the entrance of evil. I believe that to be the harbinger of doom.”

“This is my tale. When the fire dies and we depart, remember to never trust yourself in an empty house, take no heed of fell voices calling to you as if from a distant shore, consider the sounds you may hear in the rooms apart from the one you inhabit as more than the house settling, and most of all, never trust your own reflection. Something may be staring back from any of a thousand empty cabins.”